maybe I am.

Stare into a mirror long enough, it won't be your reflection you stare at any longer. It'll be every aberration in your soul, like the chips and cuts lacerating the mahogany. Narcissus is within us all in semblances of marks incising an idyllic past set ablaze along the decomposing surface by the absence of a voice, only eyes to watch the flame kindle in the night, and ears to hear the mind's whistles ululate to the grievance, whereof it only exacerbates with time, and leverage. It's become easy to see the foibles beneath my exterior, my body but a weathered tabernacle, a plate of armor of which I toil on my back, but a needless burden nonetheless.

All my life I've been a glib gladiator, a heart-feigned logomachian whose hid behind the shield of his sphere of influence to create feigned connections to his own volition, stubbornly latching his gnarled fingers & unkempt nails onto the notion like pearls that all things that are valuable require reciprocation correspondent to said value, and, without it, there was no validation in growing those true friendships. There was no reason or room for change. So.. I faithfully let a lie sit there festering with the pus of malignancy.

The conjoined faces of janus harness time in assemblage, spurred by the moving of lips, the passage of the soul - one pair, as stirring as the confluence of inlets amidst a tsunami; the other, as breathtaking as the coruscations of pops and crackles as fireworks laminate the skies in tenors of extravaganza.

So why by an hour in, when the saccades in my eyes have slowed and my attention's eroded to the acclimations of my head, can't I help but smile?

Maybe I am going crazy.